A Storm At Sea
by jerzeegurl
Summary: A sequel to "Jimmy's Homecoming". Angela's first encounter with Jimmy's nightmares. TW: PTSD, anxiety, panic attacks


She awakens suddenly to a dampness against the small of her back. A soft sigh escapes her lips and she immediately regrets it.

"He's barely three," she scolds herself, "of course he's going to have accidents on occasion."

She purses her lips and draws a deep, calming breath at the thought of changing the sheets in the middle of the night. The task itself certainly easy enough, but for the two other parties she was sandwiched between, and she made a mental note to start shopping for that cot they'd talked about getting for the baby.

First, she'd have to move Tommy and change him into fresh pajamas without waking him too much (or at all if she were really careful). Then she'd rouse Jimmy, quickly remake the bed, and try to get back to sleep before the sun rose…the feat proving difficult as of late.

She pulled back the quilt and sat up to survey her son. Despite the ruined sheets, she was astonished to find him dry and sleeping peacefully. It was then that she released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding and glanced to her left. He was saturated and she felt her hands begin to nervously shake as she leaned in closer.

His bedshirt clung against his rumpled form, while the beads of cold sweat dotting his brow glistened in the moonlight.

"Mutti…mutti…"

The same word mumbled softly over and over only she didn't have the slightest idea what it meant.

She gulped and hastily thought about where she could move Tommy so that he would still be safe; the rug in the sitting room the first thing that sprung to mind. She deftly stretched over him and slid into her kimono, the silk cold against her previously bare arms. He may have been small, but he was still a dead weigh and it took everything in her to get him into the other room. He remained asleep snuggled tightly against his stuffed rabbit, and she covered her churub with one of her shawls pulling it all the way up to his tiny chin before returning to the bedroom.

He was silent now, laying on his side, shivering with a tight grip on his pillow. She swallowed hard as she sat back on their bed. She regarded him thoughtfully, recalling how she used to love watching him sleep. Of how she'd purposely try to wake before him so she could watch the way the morning sun played against his perfect features. And how he'd catch her sometimes, and smile that smile of his, and take her with a fury before it was time for her to sneak back out and home without her aunt noticing she'd been gone. But she didn't know this person.

With trembling fingers she nudged his shoulder. Once, twice, and the third time he sat upright in a panic. He looked directly at her but didn't see her, a vacant stare as he panted to catch his breath. She instinctively took his hand and gave it a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

"You're safe… It's me…You're home now."

Yet nothing seemed to register. She leaned over to caress his cheek and, as she did so a mass of tangled curls cascaded forward and brushed against his bicep. His face changed as the relief washed over him, his callous thumb rubbing affectionately over her knuckles. Shame quickly overshadowed the tenderness as he jerked his head away from her, grimacing as he squeezed the bridge of his nose in self punishment. The next instant he leapt out of bed, leaving her reeling.

"Where are you going?" she called after him, albeit louder than she intended having forgotten under the circumstances that Tommy was in the other room.

She heard a door shut and was relieved in following after him to find that it was the one to the bathroom and not the front door. A second later the lock clicked. The water was running but it still didn't mask the muffled sobs coming from the other side, and she drew both hands to her mouth in an effort to silence herself as well.

She shook her head in concentration and tucked a stray raven lock behind her ear as she returned to the bedroom. In haste she stripped the bed and put the wet things in the washtub in the kitchen to be laundered tomorrow. She was putting a new bottom sheet on and cursing under her breath at having lost its mate when he returned to the room.

His hair was soaked, but then again, it was before he'd entered the water closet so there was no telling if he'd actually bathed. She sat on her side of the bed and smiled her sweetest smile. This went unappreciated though as he lay down beside her, flat on his back…staring off at the rickety ceiling. She rolled over to her left praying he would pull her close; let her in. She had so many questions.

"Who did you see when you looked at me? What were you saying? Where did you think you were?"

There were many others, of course, but, being that he was now shirtless the only thing she could muster was, "Are you cold?"

The longest minute in the world passed before he finally responded.

"No."

With that he turned to his side, facing away from her. It wasn't long before she could hear his breathing regulated. Not exactly a snore, but she knew that he was sleeping and couldn't help but envy him a little. She sighed. If she were going to be up, the least she could do was put her nervous energy to good use. Quickly and quietly she gathered her paints and took a small canvas from the closet. She gathered her hair up into a messy bun, using two of her pencils to hold it in place, before setting about her work. This piece was a departure from her usual landscapes and still lifes. Her pallette a swirl of various grays, blues, and whites. She had cocked her head and was critiquing her progress when she heard a small voice behind her.

"What's that Mama?" the child asked curiously as he rubbed his eyes and drowsily yawned.

"A storm," she replied matter-of-factly. "A storm at sea."


End file.
